Yemi Adelekan is a food writer and blogger who was a semi-finalist in the 2022 series of BBC TV’s Masterchef competition.

Yemi writes for the Stray Ferret about her love of the area’s food and shares cooking tips.

There’s something quietly satisfying about ending a year where it began. On New Year’s Eve, with Harrogate’s festive lights still glowing and the promise of celebration in the air, I found myself back at Illam, the South Indian restaurant on King's Road where I had first eaten on New Year’s Day 2025.

By ‘finding’ myself back there, what I really mean is I had wanted to go back for a while and took active steps to make it happen. My return was deliberate, almost ceremonial – a way of taking stock, palate first, and making sure my recommendation of the restaurant to anyone who cared to listen was still deserving.

Illam is the kind of restaurant you stop at “on a whim” and then remember long after. My first visit was unplanned, but memorable enough that I wanted to see whether time had dulled its shine or sharpened it. A year on, the answer was clear: if anything, the food has improved.

This time, we made a point of ordering entirely different dishes. I was sorely tempted to repeat their thali, but curiosity won and Illam rewarded it.

We began with mocktails, and I have to say the pomegranate mojito deserves its own moment. Fresh pomegranate, lime and mint mocktail, dotted prettily with ruby-red seeds was refreshing, balanced and genuinely joyful to drink.

I could easily have polished off a jug on my own. There was also an orange version, equally thoughtful, and I appreciated having alternatives that went beyond the usual soft drinks or predictable mango lassi. For non-drinkers especially, this felt considered rather than tokenistic.

Starters arrived, and from that point on it felt like one good decision after another.

We ordered the Meen Malabari and Scallop Molly, both cooked in coconut milk with mild spices, curry leaves and green chillies. There was no heat to speak of, making them accessible without being dull. The flavours were rounded, aromatic and comforting rather than showy.

The Meen Malabari ‘green fish’ dish was particularly striking with its vivid colour, garlicky and warming, its aroma drawing you in before the first bite. Cooked with green herbs and spices, it delivered depth without aggression. This is food that trusts its ingredients and the knowledge of the chefs.

The Scallop Molly with sweet, tender scallops nestled in a coconut sauce with onions was quietly impressive with the tender scallops that just melted in your mouth. What really captured me, though, was the pancake-like fermented flatbread served alongside it. Slightly sour from fermentation, gently sweet with coconut, it was the perfect vehicle for the scallops because it enhanced their sweetness.

It immediately reminded me of masa (or waina), a Northern Nigerian dish made from fermented rice batter, onions and yeast, cooked in dimpled pans into small, fluffy pancakes with crisp edges. That moment of recognition – different cuisines, similar techniques, shared instincts – is one of the pleasures of eating well-considered food.

Then there was the paratha. Exactly what I’d been dreaming about for months. Crisp, layered, indulgent. Addictive enough that I ordered it to accompany both starters and mains and still wished I’d had more even though I didn’t have spare room in my belly. It’s rare to find a paratha that hits this sweet spot so precisely.

Mains continued the theme of thoughtful execution. The Salmon Kadukka with mussels was rich and deeply satisfying, largely due to a sweet, thick white sauce seasoned delicately with white pepper. Served on top of soft, smashed potatoes, it was indulgent without tipping into heaviness.

The grilled lamb(main image) was beautifully done marinated in green pepper, herbs and spices, then grilled until tender and juicy. Its sweetness was balanced by the umami depth of the special gravy. It came with coconut rice and chips, and this was the only note that felt slightly out of sorts.

The coconut rice cooked with grated coconut, tempering spices, curry leaves and cashews was lovely, though I would have welcomed a bit more crunch from toasted nuts as a garnish. The chips, however, felt completely unnecessary. This dish would have sung louder with a different type of bread to mop the delicious sauce, or in my case, more paratha instead.

What truly sets Illam apart is its mastery of South Indian sauces. Each one was distinct, layered and deeply moreish. They shared no sameness, only skill. Sauce-making here is not an afterthought; it’s the backbone.

A year on, Illam has defied the quiet decline that sometimes follows early promise. Instead, it feels more assured, more confident in its voice. There is a wide range of dishes at Illam, and still so much left to explore.

I’ll be back, and not just for nostalgia, but because this is a kitchen that understands flavour, memory and restraint. And that’s worth returning to, again and again.